


Wicked Coffee

by ladydirewolf1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista John, Barista Sherlock, Bisexual John Watson, Coffee Shops, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, POV John Watson, Unilock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:25:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydirewolf1/pseuds/ladydirewolf1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wicked Coffee is the hottest coffee shop in town. Luckily for med-student John Watson, Irene Adler is hiring, and who better to train him than barista-extraordinaire Sherlock Holmes? In a twist on a classic coffee-shop romance, John reunites with the mysterious, dark-haired stranger from his past to learn the ins and outs of making the perfect cup…among other, more sweeter things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy my first coffee shop AU, and thanks for reading!

           “We’re closed, honey,” someone called out as the door shut behind him. “Come back tomorrow, and we’ll fix you up.”

            The voice came from behind the counter, though only the jet-black top of the woman’s head poked out as she rummaged through the lower shelves.

            “Erm—” John glanced down at the application clutched in his hand. _Wicked Coffee_ it read across the top in large, sleek lettering. The ultra-urban, industrial-chic café was _the_ place to be in central London, according to his sister Harry, and with med school loans piling up, John had printed off an application without question.

            He approached the stainless steel counter just as the owner of the voice straightened, and John now found himself face-to-face with a pale, dark-haired woman with an especially red lip. She raised an arched brow as John fumbled for words.

            “I heard you were hiring—here, I’ve got an—” John thrust out his application, cringing at the way the paper had crinkled in his fist. “Do you…do you work here?” His cheeks grew hot as the woman stared at his outstretched hand.

            The woman laughed, moving out from behind the counter and throwing a used towel aside. “Work here? Where do you think the idea for _wicked_ coffee came from? I’m the owner, honey.” She waved a hand at herself as she took his application and leaned against the steel. John could now see where the shop had got its name—the woman was dressed head-to-toe in black, from her knee-high boots to her short-sleeved turtleneck. Ink wrapped its way around her forearm, disappearing into her sleeve.

            “But as for you…” Her eyes lifted from scanning the paper, taking in John in a way that made him blush even deeper. “Well, I suppose _he_ can help you on that front.” Her gaze lingered on his purple jumper before meeting his eyes once more.

            “He?”

            “In the back,” she replied, waving absently towards a door set into the back wall. “It says here that you’ve worked in a café before…”

            “Speedy’s. I worked weekends during my first few months at university making sandwiches, drinks, fries…” In truth John had loathed the job, but it had helped pay his way through some…unexpected expenditures at the time. He only hoped that Wicked Coffee would be a bit more interesting. The only thing that gotten John through the day at Speedy’s had been daydreaming over one of the regulars, but at the time John had been too afraid to say anything to the man. Speedy’s-John had been horribly in-the-closet when it came to his attraction to men.

            _Maybe Wicked Coffee is just the thing I need,_ John mused as the woman continued to read his application. _A chance to start over with everything._ He could just imagine it now—pouring coffee for his beautiful stranger, passing by with a tray in his hands as tousled black curls brushed against his arm, his deep, rich voice calling out an order…

             “John, is it? John Watson?”

            “What? Oh, yes.” He cleared his throat, trying to clear the image from his head.

            She set the application aside. “We need someone to do evenings during the week. The shop’s getting busier now, especially with school back from winter holiday, and the man I’ve got has certain… _quirks_ that could be smoothed over with more hands behind the counter.” She shook her head with a sigh. “He is _excellent_ with coffee though…now John, I usually allow my employees to wear their own clothes, but for you…”

            “Wait,” John said hurriedly as her voice trailed off. “Does this mean I got the job?”

            “Welcome to Wicked, John Watson.” She stuck out one hand, cherry-red nails glinting in the light.

            He shook it eagerly, his chest flooding with warmth. _See, Harry? I_ can _get a job at the hippest shop in London._ He could just see her mouth hanging open in shock. _Although when I tell her, I’ll need to leave out the bit about the issue concerning my wardrobe._ John was oddly fond of his many woolen jumpers and warm flannels, but for a job at Wicked, he would be willing to make some sacrifices. “Thank you so much, Ms…”

            “Adler. But call me Irene when you’re on the clock. I don’t want all my customers thinking me old, or they just may find someplace else to buy their seven-pound coffees.” She winked and flashed a grin.

            “Irene. Gotcha…” John shifted on his feet and moistened his lips. The dark-haired woman before him was hardly _old_ , maybe just a few years older than himself. As he laughed, trying not to sound nervous, he couldn’t help but think that Irene looked strikingly like the handsome stranger back at Speedy’s. The thought did nothing to help the redness creeping up his ears. “Irene,” he began again, “Do you…do you ever get any time—”

            A car’s horn blared from the street, and John’s head whipped around at the sound. Through the large window John could just make out a brunette woman waving from the driver’s side of sky-blue Mini convertible.

            “Sorry, honey, but I have to run.”

            John turned back around to see Irene throwing keys into a leather purse. “Your friend’s got an interesting car,” he teased as she darted to the side, checking her reflection in the back of the espresso machine.

            “Molly?” Irene laughed between pulling out strands from her bun to frame her face. “Yes, I suppose so…” She dabbed on some more lipstick then straightened, eyes scanning the shop. When they fell on the back door, she called out, “Sherlock, dear, I’m going to need you to do John’s training tonight!”

            _So the mysterious barista with the quirks is still here._ John wondered faintly why the man hadn’t bothered to come out to say hello.

            “I’m quite busy, you know!” an irritated voice called back, muffled through the wall. John thought he heard the high whistle of steam followed by a loud clattering, but the shop _was_ in the middle of London, after all.

            Irene ignored him. “Go over the manual, figure something out for his uniform, and show him the _basics,_ for God’s bloody sake. I don’t want what happened to the other one happening again!”

            The only reply was the loud _bang_ of metal against metal, and this time John was _sure_ it was coming from the back room.

            “That boy…” Irene muttered under her breath, shaking her head with a grimace.

            “The other one?”

            She waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Sherlock’s the best barista I’ve got. I’m sure he’ll take good care of you.” There was just a hint of doubt in her voice, though, and suddenly John found himself wondering just what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

            _Beep!_

            Both turned at the noise, and Irene shot him an apologetic look. “Sorry I can’t stay, John. But you know girlfriends,” she said, shaking her head. Then her eyes fell again on his jumper, and her lips pursed. “Or maybe you don’t… “ she gave him a quick peck on the cheek in goodbye and said, “Anyway, good luck with Sherlock, and I’ll see you on Monday!”

            She hurried out the door, leaving John standing dumbstruck by the counter. A moment later, the little car was speeding away in a blur of blue.

            _But you know girlfriends...or maybe you don’t…_ The words repeated again and again in his head. “How…how the _hell_ did she know?” John muttered under his breath. He raised a hand to his cheeks, and when his fingers drew away, he saw the red smeared across his fingertips. _And I was hitting on her…fuck._ He didn’t want to know what his new boss was thinking now, as she rode away in her girlfriend’s sky-blue convertible.

            “I’d say that product in your hair, but the jumper is a close second. Lilac…not the most inconspicuous color, is it?”

            Still frozen on the spot from sheer embarrassment, John absently reached a hand to his hair. _The product in my…_ “It’s just purple,” he mumbled defensively, more to himself than the voice coming from behind.

            “Mhmmm…lilac. Definitely lilac.”

            The man’s words seemed to snap John out of his trance, and he suddenly turned towards the voice. “And just who are…”

            _Fuck._

The dark-haired, sharp-cheekboned, devastatingly handsome stranger from Speedy’s stared back at him. Heat rushed to John’s face, and one corner of the man’s thin lips jerked into a smirk.

            Smoothly and without a pause, the man stepped forward through the café. He held out a hand, and John’s eyes fell to the long, elegant fingers waiting patiently for his own.

            “The name’s Sherlock Holmes. And as Irene said, welcome to Wicked, John Watson.”


End file.
